


For the Better

by aurora_australis



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 11:47:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16346129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurora_australis/pseuds/aurora_australis
Summary: A supplemental story inspired by Sarahtoo’sFor Good, from the Whumptober Fanfic Challenge.





	For the Better

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [For Good](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16321274) by [Sarahtoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo). 



> If you haven’t yet, you need to go read _For Good_ right now because 1) it’s beautiful and brilliant and heartbreakingly lovely and 2) this story will make absolutely no sense otherwise.
> 
> Thank you to Sarahtoo, for letting me play in her sandbox of awesome, and Fire_Sign, for reasons that will become obvious later on.

In the end, Phryne wished she hadn't called at all.

The connection was terrible and what she could hear didn't make her feel any better. Charlotte had only come up briefly and Mac had sounded almost delighted discussing her, which Phryne put down more to the poor call reception rather than her best friend suddenly switching allegiances. Jack was only mentioned in relation to a case they were working on - something delicate and important she gathered, but she was too far away to really care so she let the electronic gaps in the conversation lie. It seemed the distance required to de-pique her curiosity was approximately 10,000 miles.

The broken heart didn't help much either.

She hung up the telephone resolved to write Mac a long letter instead, preferably filled with all the scandalous experiences she was planning to have in the very near future. But fate, once again, intervened. 

Her father took a turn for the worse and required more specialized care, so she oversaw the transfer of him down to London and the doctors therein. He responded well, but couldn't be moved home so she spent three weeks traveling between London and Somerset, run ragged by the commute. Eventually the situation reached a head and through the friend of a friend she met George Sharp, Esq. who was as intelligent as his last name implied. She hired him to help run the estate and the relief she felt once he was in place was both immediate and enormous. Free from the day to day responsibilities of the estate, she stayed longer and longer in London, partly to look after her father, and partly because she prefered it to the loneliness of the country. City life was still lonely but it was more subtle about it. And Phryne, in perhaps only this particular case, preferred subtlety.

One day, a few weeks into this new arrangement and feeling far more herself than she had since she’d arrived in London, she passed a stationary shop and realized she’d never written that letter. Or heard back from Mac come to think of it, though at that point it had been several weeks since she’d been back to the estate, and her mother was notoriously unreliable when it came to passing along correspondence, and certainly not without reading it first. She went inside and bought some lovely new stationary and a brand new pen, resolved to finally reach out again to her friends. To her home.

The skies were looking threatening though and so she quickly paid the cashier and hurried home, barely beating the rain. She had only just returned to the small flat she’d rented, placed the freshly purchased pen and paper on her writing desk and removed her coat and hat, when there was a knock at the door.

She wasn’t expecting anyone, but she did have friends in the area and so wasn’t completely surprised to have a visitor.

Until she opened the door.

There, standing on the other side of the threshold, rather than the other side of the world where she had left him, was Jack Robinson.

For several long moments she just stared. At some point she realized he was soaking wet, and holding a suitcase, but she couldn’t bring herself to comment on any of that. All she could say, eventually, was, “Jack…”

He smiled that lopsided smile that she loved - had loved, that she _had_ loved - and cocked an eyebrow.

“You’re a hard woman to track down, Miss Fisher. May I come in?”

She didn’t say anything in response and his smile slowly disappeared. A moment later he shivered, and her brain caught up with the situation.

“Yes, yes, of course. You must be freezing.”

She ushered him inside, and helped him remove his coat and hat. He looked a bit lost then and she took pity on him.

“Shoes and socks as well, Jack, you’re soaked. Suit coat too, if you can stand the impropriety of it.”

He did as he was told, placing all the items mentioned by the fire to dry. While he was doing that she poured them both a glass of whisky and handed him his when he had finished hanging his clothes.

She didn’t offer him a seat and he didn’t take one uninvited so they just stood there, in front of the fire, sipping their drinks in awkward silence. 

Eventually she spoke.

“So… this is a surprise.”

He looked taken aback by her statement.

“Is it?” he asked.

“Quite,” she responded. “What about Charlotte?” she asked, finally taking a seat and gesturing for him to do the same.

He looked even more confused.

“What _about_ Charlotte?” he asked, sitting down in the chair beside her.

“Does she know you’re here?” Phryne asked.

“Does Charlotte know I’m here?”

“Is there an echo in here, Jack?”

“I’m sorry, why would Charlotte care where I am?”

“Because she’s your, you know…” Phryne struggled to find the right word. They were not, after all, teenagers. “Sweetheart,” she finally settled on. 

“Charlotte?”

“Yes, Jack,” Phryne said, somewhat exasperated. 

“Mac’s Charlotte?” he asked.

Now it was Phryne’s turn to be confused.

“What?”

“Mac’s, er, lady friend. Charlotte. We’ve met a few times. She seems nice. Dry sense of humor. Doesn’t suffer fools. Most certainly _not_ my sweetheart. As you may have surmised, I am not her type.”

Phryne’s jaw dropped open.

“Charlotte is Mac’s… what?”

“She said she told you,” Jack insisted.

“No, she… she wrote me, but…” And then Phryne remembered. A long forgotten code they’d used in their correspondence during the War. To avoid alerting the censors to her particular proclivities, Mac would choose the least eligible bachelor in their mutual acquaintance and refer to any woman she was involved with as “the woman he’s seeing.” It was simple and elegant and Phryne couldn’t believe she had forgotten it. But why would Mac feel the need to use it now? And then it struck her quite suddenly. Phyne closed her eyes as the realization set in. “Mother,” she whispered.

“Excuse me?”

Phryne opened her eyes. “Mac must have thought Mother would read the letter so she used an old code of ours from the War.”

“An old…? But you spoke, didn’t you? She said you phoned. She told you I was coming.”

“She did no such thing! It was, admittedly, a poor connection, but she only told me about some important case you were working on.”

“I was _making_ my case. To the Chief Commissioner. For extended long service leave. Which I did, by the way. Hence…” he gestured to his suitcase.

Phryne looked at it. She was reeling. A thousand emotions flooded her at once. She couldn’t seem to settle on any of them, but then she remembered the hurt. And the pain. And the sacrifice she had made. And then anger seemed as good an emotion as any to hang on to.

“What about you?” she asked, putting down her glass with far more force than was necessary.

“What _about_ me?” he asked, clearly confused again. _Poor man_ , some small part of her brain supplied, _this was probably not the reunion he had been hoping for._

“Why didn’t you write me? Or phone? Or send a damn telegraph?”

“I thought you knew!”

“Well I didn’t!”

“I was trying to get here as quickly as I could, Miss Fisher, I didn’t stop to think about correspondence.”

“Well maybe you should have!” she said, standing and moving away from their chairs before turning to pace back towards him.

“What is happening right now?” he asked, putting down his drink and standing in kind.

“You show up here, no warning, no forethought, no, no, _plan_ and just expect me to be waiting for you?”

“You asked me to come after you!”

“And then I told you to move on!”

“I see. Do you want me to go?” he asked, quietly.

“No! I want… I want…” she collapsed back into her chair. “I thought you had moved on,” she said softly. “I was certain you had moved on.”

He sat back down as well, looking at her intently.

“Why did you do that?” he asked. “I wondered… but then Mac said you were pleased I was trying to come so I thought… why did you tell me to move on?”

“I couldn’t leave. I didn’t want to drag you into my troubles here. I… I was trying to be noble.” She rolled her eyes. “Do the right thing.” She looked up and met his gaze, tears pooling in her eyes, but not falling. “Something I learned from a friend.”

He took a breath. Considered his response. 

“I didn’t listen,” he said finally.

“So I see,” she agreed.

“No, I mean… I didn’t listen. I was impulsive. It was as you said - no warning, no forethought, no plan. It just seemed like something I had to do and I…. Phryne, you, _you_ make me want to seize opportunities. You make me want to take chances. And this is the biggest chance of them all.” He offered a wry smile. “Admittedly, I thought you knew and were pleased I was coming… But even if you do kick me out now, I’m still not sorry I came. I’m not the same man you met in that lavatory two years ago. You’ve changed me.”

“For good?” she asked, her double meaning clear. She was curious if he would regret his new attitude in the metaphorical morning. “Or is this only temporary madness?”

He chuckled, then turned serious. Or, at least, sincere. “Hopefully for good, certainly for the better. This is… I’m happy, Miss Fisher. This is an adventure. And I _like_ adventures! I’d forgotten that. Sometime between my first bicycle and my last days in France, I’d forgotten. And I will _always_ be grateful to you for helping me rediscover this part of myself.”

She smiled. The thousand emotions settled, calmed. And suddenly she only felt joy. She reached across and took his hand, which he gladly gave her.

“So,” she said after a moment, “probably not the reunion you were expecting, hmmm?”

He snorted. “No,” he admitted, “but I’ve learned with you to expect the unexpected.”

She looked him over, waistcoat, slacks, bare feet, and smiled. “Well I certainly didn’t expect a half-dressed Jack Robinson in my sitting room this evening. But for myself, I am _loving_ the unexpected.”

He laughed. “Yes, well, forgive the appearance but it seems you’re a terrible influence on me.”

“Would you like me to be even worse?” she asked, her expression a mixture of humor and desire and love.

“More than anything,” he responded with a broad smile and that same combination of emotions evident in his eyes.

“Then let’s get you out of those wet clothes and into a dry my bed,” she suggested with a grin, standing, but not releasing his hand.

“Miss Fisher, I believe the expression is ‘and into a dry martini’,” he corrected, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. 

“Is it?” she asked with a twinkle in her eye. “Well, we can drink after,” she promised, slowly leading him to the bedroom. As they walked, they passed her writing desk, and the brand new stationery she had just purchased. She smiled and resolved to write Mac a long letter very soon, filled with all the scandalous experiences she was absolutely about to have in the very, very near future. 

And, perhaps, for good.

**Author's Note:**

> So credit where credit is due…
> 
> Fire_Sign: What if Charlotte is Mac’s girlfriend and Phryne just doesn’t read between the lines in the letter?  
> Me: That’s brilliant! You should write it!  
> Fire_Sign: No. I have twenty brilliant ideas before lunch. I don’t have time for that.**  
> Me: Can I steal it then?  
> Fire_Sign: Sure.
> 
> She also maintains it wasn’t theft because we were “brainstorming,” which is a much nicer way of putting it, so I’m stealing that too. ;-)
> 
>  
> 
> _**She may have just said “No.” But I stand by the rest of the statement as true._


End file.
